So, Laura Linney. She’s sweet. She’s lovely. She must be good at her job for Alan Rickman to like her enough to routinely inquire about her romantic life despite always being on her phone. She makes questionable wedding hat decisions but, hey, any ex-pat attending a British wedding might make the same curious choice. My beef is not with you, sweet Laura Linney.

Nor is it with her brother, a man who presumably has schizophrenia and is living in a residential treatment center or hospital. He’s got enough going on and is doing his best.

That treatment center or hospital on the other hand? YOU GET ALL THE BEEF. SO MUCH BEEF. I WILL RAIN STEAKS UPON YOU, SO MUCH BEEF.

Hey. Hey, behavioral health professionals. COULD YOU NOT LET THE SEVERELY UNWELL MAN CALL HIS SISTER TWELVE THOUSAND TIMES A DAY PLEASE? Can you let the woman live? Can you let the woman do her job and not have to stay late, like, every night? CAN YOU LET HER HAVE SEX WITH HOT KARL PLEASE? Jesus.

Because this movie is as subtle as a yeast infection, she is of course topless—naked and vulnerable—when she is taken from her actually dream-come-true of Hot Karl sextimes. Now, in real life, most centers or hospitals like this won’t allow patients to use the phone after a certain time, and I would personally assume post-Christmas-party-sex-o’clock is after that certain time.

But heaven forbid they step in at any point, except one brief wordless de-escalation.

At one point mid-attempted-coitus, Hot Karl asks, “will it make him better?” as her phone rings. She responds no, but answers anyway. In the end, she sadly smiles and resigns herself to a Hot Karl-free existence, where her only love is her brother. And I think we’re supposed to be fine with this, WHEN NONE OF THIS IS FINE.

Because Hot Karl GETS IT.

So true, Hot Karl. Sometimes you have a very unwell loved one, sometimes you decide to watch a two-hour movie every single day for a month—life is FULL of problems.

The thing is, it’s very difficult and challenging to be a primary caregiver for a sick loved one. Thanks to an aging population, a lot of counselors now focus and treat people who specifically struggle with this exact thing. Except, HEY HOSPITAL? AREN’T *YOU* THE PRIMARY CAREGIVERS? Isn’t unlimited phone time for someone clearly dealing with severe paranoid delusions maybe, like, not a great idea?

In a movie filled with evil sex robots, the real villain turns out to be poor behavioral health management. FOR SHAME.